


A Secret for a Secret

by EachPeachPearPlum



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Confessions, Episode: s03e04 Gwaine, Friendship, Gen, Magic Revealed, Pre-Merlin/Gwaine (if you tilt your head sideways and squint a little)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 14:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12212721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EachPeachPearPlum/pseuds/EachPeachPearPlum
Summary: Gwaine knows, okay, heknowsthat Merlin didn’t choose to tell him his secret. If Merlin was going to trust anyone with that knowledge, Gwaine’s pretty sure he knows who it’d be, and he’s even more sure he knows how far down the list of Merlin’s friends and acquaintances he’d have to look before he finds his own name, but that doesn’t change anything.He owes Merlin, and he owes him more than just keeping hush about the magic thing.He owes him a secret in return, even if Merlin has no idea of it.





	A Secret for a Secret

**Author's Note:**

> So my first thought when I read the words _Gwaine is yours_ on my sign-up was _Oh, I wish_. My second thought? _Bollocks. Really should have put one of the Lancelot episodes at the top of the list._
> 
> The number of times I've thought about dropping out of this? Approximately 3358, but here it is anyway...
> 
> Much love and gratitude to daroh and to KaleidoscopeGirl for the beta and the absolute tonne of encouragement they've given me for this, and to the mods for all their hard work in keeping this going.

If Gwaine is being honest (which, frankly, he tries to avoid at all costs), he was sort of expecting to get the crap beaten out of him again. Based on experience, that’s what happens when you drink more than you can pay for, and he’s conducted a fairly extensive set of experiments on the matter (though, really, anyone stupid enough to hand over that much without making sure a bloke’s good for the money gets exactly what they deserve).

Sure, Merlin patched his leg up pretty good and put Gwaine up in his own bed (and don’t think Gwaine hasn’t noticed how needlessly shirtless he was when he woke up, or that he doesn’t fully intend to see if he can tease a blush out of Merlin about it before he gets booted out of the city), so he’s clearly of a better character than the company Gwaine usually keeps. And, yeah, Prince Arthur ( _ ugh _ ) said he was to have anything he needed, but he’s pretty sure that doesn’t include forty-odd pickled eggs and enough booze to have a shipful of sailors snoring into their cups.

He sends word to Merlin anyway, even though he’s pretty sure Merlin’ll hear it, say  _ who the hell is Gwaine?  _ and go on with his day like it never happened, leaving Gwaine to get beaten to a pulp and wake up tomorrow morning in the gutter.

So, yeah. Imagine his surprise when Prince Arthur’s pet sorcerer actually shows up.

X

Thing is, Gwaine’s always been more observant than people give him credit for. It’s not hard, since most people (idiot bartenders excluded) give him bugger all in the way of credit, but it’s surprising how much a man can pick up on when the people around him think he’s too drunk to pay attention.

Drunk or not, Gwaine notices things, and Merlin flinging around plates and benches borders on impossible to miss.

There’s a moment, maybe, where Gwaine is a little bit wary. Not afraid, because he’s way too smart to buy into the whole  _ all magic is evil _ party line Camelot has going on, and it’s not like the nanny he can barely remember didn’t do a spectacularly good job of patching up his grazed knees or add a little something extra to his bedtime stories, but still. The fact remains that, however much good they might be doing elsewhere in Albion, sorcerers only ever come to Camelot for reasons relating to murder, mayhem and more-or-less nothing else.

Except Merlin’s the kind of bloke who, when a man much bigger and much, much meaner than he is threatens his friend, just smiles and says, “I’d like to see you try,” knowing full well that his only real means of defending himself results in his execution if he’s caught. He’s the guy who grins at a stranger in the middle of a bar brawl, introduces himself like it’s all perfectly normal. He’s the man who rescues said stranger, who takes care of his injuries and gives up what little privacy and space he has in order to make him comfortable, who comes to his rescue again when the stupid, worthless stranger’s drunk too much and can’t pay what he owes.

He’s a person who does all this and more, does it all without asking for or even expecting a single thing in return.

So, no. Gwaine’s not the slightest bit scared of him.

X

What he is, though, is in Merlin’s debt. Enormously, catastrophically indebted to him, and there’s basically no way Gwaine can ever pay him back. Merlin has possibly saved his life and almost certainly saved his leg; he’s put him up and put up with him and come here to save Gwaine’s arse even though he doesn’t have a whole lot more money to his name than Gwaine does.

Merlin is so consistently, implausibly nice, and Gwaine just can’t see an ulterior motive behind it, certainly not one deep and dark enough to have kept him in Camelot at Arthur’s beck-and-call for three bloody years without doing anything about it. He’s just kind and generous and so ridiculously trusting that Gwaine doesn’t know what to do about it.

And he knows, okay, he  _ knows _ that Merlin didn’t choose to tell him his secret. If Merlin was going to trust anyone with that knowledge, Gwaine’s pretty sure he knows who it’d be, and he’s even more sure he knows how far down the list of Merlin’s friends and acquaintances he’d have to look before he finds his own name, but that doesn’t change anything.

He owes Merlin, and he owes him more than just keeping hush about the magic thing.

He owes him a secret in return, even if Merlin has no idea of it.

X

Problem is, if anyone were to ask, Gwaine would say he doesn’t have any secrets. Sure, so would basically everyone on earth, but he’s pretty sure at least half of them would be lying about it: men and women sneaking around behind their spouses’ backs, highborn gents trying to pretend they don’t have a thing for the stable boy, the odd theft or occasional grisly murder. People do things they’re ashamed of, or that they don’t want to face the consequences for, so they lie and they keep secrets.

Well, whatever. If it works for them, that’s fine, but it’s not who Gwaine is.

It’s just so much effort, that’s the problem. If he has to keep something secret, then he has to lie about it, has to remember what lie he’s told to which person, has to make himself stay sober enough that he doesn’t blurt out honest answers to the wrong questions and no. Just, no.

Maybe he’s done some stupid things in his life, some things he’s not so proud of, but never anything so terrible that he’s not willing to tell the truth if someone asks him about it. And, fine, maybe honesty doesn’t net him a whole lot of friends, but he’s choosing to believe that’s their loss, not his, and, anyway, there’s way more fun to be had in new places than in ones he’s found himself in before.

It’s never been a problem in the past, never been something he couldn’t live with, and Gwaine stands by it, he really does, but… He just wishes he had something worth offering Merlin.

X

If Merlin thinks there’s something weird about how quiet he is as they walk back, he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he seems to take it in his stride (perhaps he’s used to it, if Arthur is an introspective drunk too – certainly, Gwaine’s seen no evidence yet that he’s capable of introspection when sober), keeping up a steady stream of prattle about this and that. Every third sentence seems to feature Arthur in one way or another, about the chores he’s had Merlin completing today, about the mêlée and how uncomfortable Merlin is with the idea of it, about Arthur and Gwen, about Gaius cautioning restraint and yet never quite taking Merlin’s concerns seriously enough, about what nefarious plots the Lady Mor-

Merlin falls silent, far too abruptly for it to just be because they’re back at his and Gaius’ quarters and he doesn’t want to wake his mentor, and Gwaine wonders, thinks about maybe saying something, but whatever it is, whatever has the name ending halfway through and that tone in Merlin’s voice, he’s not actually sure he wants to know, and he definitely doesn’t want to owe Merlin any more than he does, not when it’s already a thousand times more than he can repay.

(Because he’s got something, maybe, something he’s never told anyone, but it’s not… It just doesn’t compare.)

“Thank you,” he says as they stagger unevenly up the steps to Merlin’s room, and even though all Gwaine is aiming for is quiet, it mostly just comes out as terribly, tremendously heartfelt.

Merlin frowns at him a little, like he knows Gwaine’s thanking him for more than just the bed and the rescue, even if he can’t figure out what. “You’re welcome?” he answers, just a little bit of a question to it, enough that Gwaine goes for sincere again, this time hiding it with what Merlin can choose or choose not to see as a joke.

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” he tells Merlin, knowing he’s drunk enough to get away with it; Merlin might be sober, but Gwaine’s a long way from being the first overly inebriated bloke to declare his undying affection for someone he’s only known for a minute. Merlin will read into it exactly as much as he wants to, and Gwaine can live with however much that is.

Sure enough, Merlin grins at him, the flippant tone as good as calling Gwaine crazy as he says, “You certainly seem to have a lot of them.”

_ No _ , Gwaine thinks,  _ I really, really don’t _ , and he doesn’t know if he’s flattered or not. On the one hand, it’s sort of nice that Merlin thinks that he could have close to that many friends, that he’s at all capable of making himself as well-liked as Merlin clearly is, but… On the other, it’s spectacularly naive of him not to realise that no one’s more popular than the guy who’s footing the bill, nor sooner abandoned than when everyone realises he’s utterly broke, not to mention kind of insulting that Merlin believes the crowd of drunks and thugs in some dingy alehouse are the kind of people Gwaine wants to pal around with. Even if they were his friends, they don’t exactly compare favourably to the people Merlin has surrounded himself with, Gwen and Gaius and- Alright, fine, even Arthur sodding Pendragon would be a better friend than Gwaine deserves, arrogant prick though he may be, and, God, does Gwaine-

“Wish I could see his face when he gets that bill,” he says, accidentally aloud, too vicious and far too vehement for Merlin not to take him at face value this time.

Merlin loosens the supportive arm he has around him, depositing him on the bed (surprising, if only because Gwaine sort of thought Merlin offering him a roof over his head was already more than he deserved and that he’d be relegated to the floor now that he’s walking around just fine).

“Right,” Merlin says, no longer amused, after a brief glance at the door that leaves his eyes just the tiniest bit not blue as he turns back, only noticeable because Gwaine knows it’s a possibility. He wonders what it is Merlin’s done and, a little warily, whether he’s finally pushed his luck past the point where Merlin can let it slide, but apparently he’s got at least a little further left to push: shaking his head slightly, that little frown back again, Merlin asks, “What is it with you and nobles?”

Gwaine looks at him, and it should be nothing, it really should. It’s not like this is a patch on Merlin’s secret, certainly not like sharing it is in any way close to endangering his life, so he’s got no reason to feel kind of nauseous at the thought of answering Merlin’s question.

He does, though, and maybe more than just kind of.

And it’s not like he was lying about having secrets, because Gwaine has always firmly believed that if anyone asked why his da isn’t around, he’d answer them honestly. But they haven’t asked, not in any way that requires him to say anything more than  _ What? Oh, he died years ago, fighting Caerleon’s battles. Can’t really remember him, to be honest _ . No one wants to hear anything more than that, and they definitely don’t want to know that his father wasn’t one of the helpless farmhands conscripted into the army, forced to go to war with nothing more than the clothes on his back and whatever tools he had to hand. They don’t want to know that his da was a well armoured and fully equipped knight, that he may well have stormed across battlefields on horseback cutting down anyone who stood in his path, that his death might actually count as a victory for the underdog Gwaine has always tried his best to stick up for.

If anyone had ever just come out with  _ So was your old man a knight, then? _ Gwaine’s pretty sure he would have told them the truth and faced whatever consequences he had to face, be it ostracism or aggression or the kind of hero worship he’s about a million miles away from deserving. It’s just that no one has asked, not in such a way that the only honest answer was an absolutely comprehensive one, and even if he’d have told the whole truth because he had no choice, Gwaine’s never actually considered the possibility that he might tell it when he does.

He looks at Merlin, reminding himself how much he owes him and he knows that not even answering a thousand questions with absolute and complete honesty will come close to clearing that debt, but… He has to try, doesn’t he, and at least Merlin’s fondness for Arthur kind of suggests he won’t run for the hills as soon as he finds out about Gwaine’s family tree.

“My father was a knight,” Gwaine says, his voice artificially light; once again, he’s leaving it to Merlin to decide how seriously he wants to take him. It’s kind of ruined by the fact that he’s not actually able to meet Merlin’s eyes as he says it, but he’s just not brave enough to forego the easy tone, the one that suggests telling Merlin really isn’t a big deal.

“One of Caerleon’s,” he continues, then keeps going before Merlin can ask him the reason for his fairly obvious past tense. “Died in battle, some piddly little dispute over which dickhead monarch owned a tiny border village neither of them had ever been to, and then when my mother asked Caerleon for help with the estate, he turned her away. Told her if she couldn’t manage, she had no right being there. Had us out on our arses the second Father’s body was in the ground.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says, so incredibly earnest that Gwaine finds himself squirming under his gaze.

“It’s not like I knew him,” he answers far too gruffly, adding an equally gruff shrug to go with it. He regrets it almost immediately, since the point in telling Merlin is to even things up between them, and it really doesn’t work if he’s going down the  _ It’s not like I care _ route; pushing down the fluttery unease in his stomach, Gwaine forces himself to look back at Merlin, to accept the gentle, steady understanding with which Merlin regards him. “Just a few stories people told me about him, you know?”

He’s a little- not surprised, exactly, and definitely not alarmed, but… Merlin’s bed isn’t exactly wide, and, yeah, Gwaine knew Merlin was sat next to him, knew that he was going to be sat fairly close, really doesn’t have a problem with it, except Merlin’s eyes are so blue and Gwaine doesn’t think he’s ever had a conversation that feels as real as this one does.

He doesn’t do real, doesn’t know how, before tonight wouldn’t even have thought he had the strength necessary to try it.

“I know,” Merlin tells him, and Gwaine doesn’t need to hear what he says next to know it’s true, to know that Merlin’s words are far more than a well-meaning platitude. “I only met my father briefly before he died.”

_ Oh, Merlin _ , Gwaine thinks, because the grief there is far fresher than his own, raw and recent and the way they’re talking, quiet confidences traded in the dark, him sloshed enough that Merlin probably thinks he won’t remember all of this tomorrow… Maybe it’s not what Gwaine wants to hear, not when he’s trying so hard to pay Merlin back, to offer Merlin just about the only part of himself he’s never given to anyone else, but it’s pretty obvious that Merlin needs to talk about this, needs it more than Gwaine needs to balance the scales between them.

Gwaine’s heart might be tiny, might be twisted and empty and mostly defective, but it’s not yet so cold that he could refuse that.

“Why?” he asks, keeping his voice soft enough that, on the off chance that he’s wrong about Merlin needing to get this out, Merlin can just pretend not to have heard.

There’s a pause before Merlin replies, and when he does Gwaine gets the sense that he’s choosing his words fairly carefully. “He was banished,” he says, not quite managing to sound matter of fact about it.

_ And he left you behind? _ Gwaine doesn’t ask, because he’s not quite as insensitive as all that. Besides, he can take a guess at Merlin’s age – born not that long after Uther’s anti-magic crusade started, Gwaine would wager – and there’s a hell of a lot of magical quirks that run in bloodlines, so… There’s a pretty decent chance  _ banished  _ is in this case synonymous with  _ fleeing for his life _ , in which case leaving behind Merlin and his mother is probably the best thing his father could have done for them.

Still, Gwaine knows how much it sucks to grow up without a father, and his old man is dead. He can’t imagine how much worse it has to be to know he’s alive and well and, at least to a certain extent, absent out of choice.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting Merlin to say when, carefully, he asks, “What’d he do?” He’ll lie, Gwaine’s pretty sure of that, or at least tell a truth so vague that it might as well be one, but if Merlin wants to talk about this half as much as Gwaine thinks he does, he’ll find a way around the absolute truth.

Again, Merlin pauses before answering, his gaze even, sort of measuring, and Gwaine’s used to being weighed up with nothing more than a look, weighed and found wanting, but he’s not sure he’s ever been weighed and found worthy before.

“He served the king,” Merlin says, and if it’s possible for a sentence to be both a little wry and yet bordering on vindictive, this one is.

“And the git turned on him,” Gwaine answers, and he’s way, way past the border, full of righteous indignation on Merlin’s behalf, and on the behalf of every poor bastard who has ever offered his sword to the wrong man. Of course, Gwaine’s yet to meet the right man, has no evidence at all that he even exists, and, quite frankly, he’s just immensely impressed that Merlin has managed to live in Camelot as long as he has without disintegrating the twat. “Why doesn’t that surprise me.”

Merlin just about cracks a smile at that, knocking his elbow gently into Gwaine’s side (and thank the gods for that, because if he’d done it any harder Gwaine would have ended up on the floor).

“They’re not all like that,” he says, as though he knows exactly what Gwaine was thinking. “Arthur’s not his father.”

“Maybe not,” Gwaine agrees, not meaning it in the slightest, but there’s way too much conviction in Merlin’s voice for him to risk arguing it. “But there’s not a one of them worth dying for.”

Merlin smiles at him, open and honest, so real Gwaine can’t help but smile back at him, can’t help but be drawn in by him.

“Let’s agree to disagree on that one,” Merlin says, and that’s just fine. Merlin can decide to die for Arthur all he likes, just as long as Gwaine’s here to make sure he doesn’t have to.

X

So, okay, Merlin’s a sorcerer, and probably a pretty powerful one, too, if the easy way he threw stuff around during the bar brawl is any indication. And, yeah, Gwaine is impossibly, eternally indebted to him, without a chance of ever paying him back at all, but, actually, Gwaine thinks he can probably live with that after all.


End file.
